Baseball?
by Dr FooFoo
Summary: Baseball's highly erotic. Think about it... [FlackDanny]


**Title:** Baseball?  
**Author:** Dr FooFoo  
**Fandom:** CSI:NY  
** Pairing:** Flack/Danny  
** Rating:** R  
**Warnings:** biting D:  
** Feedback:** Review or e-mail (in profile)  
** Note:** Sorry for randomness... wrote the first couple lines at work, then cracked up about them later and tried to finish, but was really tired and depressed, and... yeah.  
**Note #2:** I just asked my father if there's a baseball team called the Bears, and he said no. LoL. Whoops.

* * *

Flack always said that baseball was an aphrodisiac. Danny wasn't too sure of the validity of that claim, but he figured everyone had their _thing_. Personally, he never thought it was very erotic.

"Think about it... a bunch of guys in tight-ass uniforms playin' with their balls," Flack said one evening during a game between the Yankees and the Bears, and that changed everything. Danny snorted and almost spit his beer all over the couch, and Flack tried not to smirk too obviously. Onscreen, the Bears hit a home run.

Flack was busy insulting the Yankees to piss Danny off, when he felt hot breath on his neck, and then his ear was suddenly wet. Danny was like a cat -- sneaky as hell -- and Flack barely had time to mumble his name before he was flat on his back and pressed into the couch. He sucked in a breath and Danny took the opportunity to kiss his hard. Not that Flack was opposed to that at all, but he was kind of having trouble breathing.

Danny let up after a little while, luckily, and onscreen, the crowd cheered. Judging by the intensity of the screaming, and considering that it was a home game, Flack guessed the Yankees had done something right, and he was about to comment on that when suddenly, there was a lot of pressure on his legs, and he heard a zipper being undone. Damn Danny and always interrupting his thoughts. And damn Danny for always distracting him with sexual favours.

Then it didn't matter anymore, because there was that hot breath again, only this time, it was blowing across Flack's thighs instead of his neck, and he arched into it. Then Danny bit him. Danny fucking _bit_ him, and there was a bright red mark right beside his hip to prove it. Flack swore loudly and reached down to try and thwap Danny, but then those ever-flapping lips were suddenly occupied, and Flack melted back into the cushions. He had no idea what the hell Danny was biting him for, but as long as it only happened once, he could deal with it.

For now, though, Flack was content with watching Danny lazily lap at his cock with a stupid grin on his face. He considered arching up into Danny again, but caught sight of pearly white teeth and decided against, settling instead on reaching a hand down to pet gently at the back of Danny's neck. He must have had a shower recently or something, because his hair was soft and gel-free, and Flack exploited the situation by running his hand over it as much as possible.

Danny mumbled something incoherent then, and more cheering came from the screen, so Flack glanced over. The game was over, apparently, and the Yankees had won. Flack muttered something about hating them, but it trailed off into a rather embarrassing whimper as Danny scraped his fingernails down Flack's inner thigh, and fuck the man for biting his nails into sharp little points. Flack knew he'd be feeling that tomorrow, and he swallowed hard when Danny shifted a little and swallowed around Flack's cock.

He wasn't going to last very much longer at this rate, and he tried to say something to that effect, but then Danny did the damn fingernail thing again, on the other leg, and Flack felt his legs tense, and before he knew it, he was arching and coming, and Danny was still sucking on him like it was going out of style. Flack squeezed his eyes shut and collapsed in a puddle on the couch, panting slightly and murmuring to himself.

A couple minutes later, the draft around his crotch stopped, and he heard more zipping, and Danny stood from the couch. Flack opened his eyes and stared up at him, mumbling for him to sit back down so he could return the favour, but Danny just smirked that damn toothy grin.

"I gotta go to work..." he said, and took a couple steps toward the bedroom, but stopped and grinned, again, at Flack. "And hey, you were right, baseball's very erotic."

Flack snorted and mumbled again, and wouldn't Danny please stay just for a couple more minutes? But Danny just escaped into the other room, and Flack was left by himself to watch the stupid baseball mascot dance around with all the cheering fans on TV.


End file.
